


You are Cordially Invited...

by owlaholic68



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: (past and mentioned - not Jacques), Abusive Relationships, Flashbacks, Immortality, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage, Panic Attacks, Second chapter is NSFW, Swearing, because what fic with James in it doesn't have panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: An unexpected wedding.
Relationships: Jacques/James, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Jacques comes home in excellent spirits.

This is starting to give James a headache. One moment Jacques is exuberant and loving, the next James has to hold him back so that he doesn’t hurt somebody in his rage. This week has been particularly bad, with his boyfriend angry more often than not.

He’ll take the happy moments where he can get them, so he doesn’t complain.

“I’m home, sweetheart!” Jacques calls out as he sheds coats and boots. He comes into the living room with an excited grin.

“Hi dear – oof!” James suddenly has a lapful of boyfriend. Jacques kisses him like a drowning man, eager hands all over him. James kisses him back, breathless and trying to play catch-up.

“You’re in a good mood,” he remarks. “Anything special today?”

Jacques nods and pulls James to standing, backing him up into the kitchen and against the counter. “I wanted to wait to tell you,” he whispers, voice low and growly in a way that makes James shiver. “But I don’t think I want to wait. I can’t wait.”

“Tell me what?” James is concerned but curious. This is a _weird_ mood…

“You are _everything_ to me,” Jacques starts. “And we’ve had our moments, we’ve had our ups and downs. But we are still together. We will always be together.” He takes James’ hand and kisses it. “You are so special, James, and I would do _anything_ to make you happy. You know that, right?” He smiles at James’ nod. “Anything. I mean it.”

He gets down on one knee. “James…”

James gasps. His eyes widen. Jacques is saying words to him and he can see his lips move, but his ears are ringing, his mind overwhelmed by shock. This – this _can’t_ really be happening. Jacques – Jacques-

The kitchen floor swims in front of him and he faints.

* * *

He dreams of his mother.

It’s a warm summer day in his childhood manor home. A cool breeze flows through the kitchen screen door as his elderly mother consoles him.

“Here,” she says. “It’s alright, dear.” Voice quiet and gentle, coaxing. She hands him a warm compress, which James holds to his cheek. He’s watching himself in this dream, sees himself sobbing and innocent and young, so young. He must have been right out of high school, perhaps a few years after his father’s passing.

“Mother,” young James cries, shifting the compress so dream-James can see the edge of a nasty bruise on his cheek. “Mother, I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry-”

“Shh, don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. This was _not_ your fault.” His mother sits next to him at the kitchen table and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Just tell me what happened. I won’t be mad. I just worry, you know how I worry.”

Young James, fragile James, wipes his cheek and adjusts the warm pack. “I told him I was breaking up with him and he said that I couldn’t,” he starts. Oh. Dream-James remembers this boyfriend now. It was one of his nastier mistakes. “He said that I was being silly and I kept insisting that no, no, it was over. And he was getting mad and I didn’t know what to do so I just told him not to talk to me again and I tried to walk away and he hit me, Mom, I didn’t think he’d hit me-”

Mother hugs him tightly. “You’re okay,” she soothes. “I’m glad that you stuck up for yourself and you’re no longer with him. He always gave me a bad feeling, but I trusted your judgement. And you know that you can trust yourself too. If he was fine with hitting you, he would have done it sooner or later. At least you’re done with him now. You’ll find someone worth you. I promise.”

“But when? When, Mom?”

“Soon.” James’ mother didn’t know how true her wisdom was; James would meet Jacques in just a couple of years. “Soon. Just be patient. And for the love of God, _please_ quit throwing yourself at every bad boy that seems stronger than you. Or take a break from dating for a while, if just to stop worrying your dear mother.”

“Yes, Mother. I’ll try.”

Dream-James sighs. It’s been over a hundred years, and he still misses her. Would she approve of his life now? She passed only a few years after he met Jacques, so they weren’t serious yet. She didn’t approve of him, James thinks, but she never said anything. Jacques was the longest relationship he’d had, and the happiest. But he was also everything his mother wished he wouldn’t associate with.

“Yes, Mother,” Dream-James echoes after his younger counterpart. “I’ll try.”

* * *

He wakes to Jacques in his face, panicked.

“Yes!” James blurts the word as soon as consciousness fully reaches him. “Yes.”

“Don’t scare me like that!” Jacques is saying, not realizing what James said. What he agreed to. “My goodness, love, you just passed out on me – wait, what?” His eyes widen. “You – you said yes?”

“Yes.” James blinks and realizes he’s lying on the kitchen floor in Jacques’ arms. He frowns and sits up.

Jacques laughs with joy and hugs him, cradling his head and kissing every part of his body he can reach. His excitement cuts through the last threads of shock still clinging to James and he laughs too.

* * *

Things turn stressful almost instantly.

The thought of dozens of people all staring at James makes him hide in the master closet in panic. Planning out a venue, invitations, guest list, food (for their human guests), all the little details start to overwhelm him.

“I’ll plan it all, don’t worry,” Jacques offers.

“But you’re busy,” James protests. “You’re too busy, you can’t plan it all. And – and what about-”

“Shh,” Jacques soothes. “I’ll take care of it.”

At least rings are easy. James’ mother had two engagement rings, a story that she loved telling him about. Both were passed on to James in case he developed a sudden taste in jewelry. One was a cluster of diamonds and the other was an amber ring with a fly preserved inside. Both fit James but neither fit Jacques.

“I fucking love this ring,” Jacques comments about the amber one when asked his preference. “It’s just the weirdest. I’ve always loved it.”

“We’ll get it adjusted, then,” James decides. The diamond one suits him well.

That’s one thing down, a hundred more to go.

“We should start telling friends.” Jacques brings up a tricky subject on the third day of their engagement. “We’ll have to invite people. Especially my sisters. They’ll be mad, so we need time for them to get over it before the wedding.”

James freezes. The thought of telling anybody… The attention…

He clears his throat. “I – I don’t know,” he responds. “Maybe – maybe we just don’t tell anyone! Ever!”

His hysterical tone draws Jacques in. “Dear, don’t panic about this. We _have_ to tell people. I’ll have to inform work, and Harriett and Lucy will find out anyways.” He hugs James. “I know you don’t like the attention, but it won’t be so bad. We’ll have a small ceremony.”

“Small is still a couple dozen,” James argues. “That’s still – that’s still a lot, I don’t know-”

“Dear, dear-” Jacques catches his wringing hands. “It’ll be okay, it’ll be our special day and it won’t even matter-”

“Why _does_ it matter? Why – why do you care, Jacques, I thought – you told me you _hated_ the idea of getting married!” James blurts. “What changed?”

“You, _you._ Anything to make you happy. Anything. You want to get married, you’ve always wanted to get married. Am I wrong? If I’m wrong-”

James shakes his head. “No, no, you’re right. I’ve pushed and pushed for years. But I think I love the _idea_ of being married and now I’m panicking because it’s actually happening and it’s going to be so much and I don’t know if I can take it and I don’t want it to be stressful-”

“No, no, it won’t be. It won’t be stressful, not at all, I promise, it’ll be whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want, darling, whatever you want, I promise-”

“Then let’s elope!” James is almost screaming but the solution came to him so clearly. Of course! This is what elopement is for! “We’ll go downtown tomorrow and get it done! We won’t tell anyone until it’s done and then what are they going to be able to do about it anyways? It doesn’t even matter! All that matters is us, and us getting married!”

Jacques is staring at him with his mouth hanging open. He blinks. “Okay,” he finally says. “I – demons don’t just _elope._ But okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It is, it is, it is-”

“Then we’ll get married tomorrow. I’ve already got the paperwork done, both here and for work, so we just need three witnesses and a place. I can get an officiant and – and we’ll just have to get the ring resized later, I suppose, and we should already have something decent to wear.” Jacques seems to take to the idea as he realizes that most of the details are already in place. Then his face falls. “I’ll have to tell my sisters. We’ll need at least two witnesses from Hell in order to make it official for them.”

“Tell them. They’ll have to deal with it,” James says, more bravely than normal. He’ll be _married_ tomorrow, what does anything else matter? “Stacey can be our third witness. We’ll send out an announcement to everybody else afterwards.”

“Okay.” Jacques kisses him deeply. “That’s settled then.” He seems disappointed but quickly recovers with a smile. “I never thought you’d want to elope. Not really your style.”

“I never thought you’d want to get married,” James retorts. “Not really your style.”

Jacques makes a face. “Oh, you little-” He pounces on James and they get very little planning done the rest of that day.

* * *

Stacey did not see this coming. She gets an early morning call from Jacques asking her to show up at the library botanical gardens that evening at sunset.

“For what?” She had asked.

“It’s a surprise,” he had responded. “You are to tell _nobody_ about this. Dress nice and bring a bouquet of flowers if you get the chance.”

Dress nice. For a mysterious event. Stacey is apprehensive but shows up in an ankle-length velvet dress with high-heeled booties and tasteful jewelry. She picks up a small bouquet on the way to the library gardens.

She’s not the first one there. Harriett and Lucy are waiting at the entrance under a wrought-iron fence decorated with string lights.

Lucy is wearing a shorter skirt with tights and boots, but a fancy enough blouse and jewelry to be called “dressed nice” if you were being generous.

Harriett is dressed like she’s going to a funeral. All black dress going past her feet in a train, large lacy sleeves and a black crocheted shawl. A small hairpiece with a black veil covering her eyes and nose.

“Oh, you,” she sneers. “What are you doing here?”

“Jacques invited me. As I’m assuming he invited you. Do you have any idea what this is all about?”

Harriett sniffs and turns away. Under the veil, she looks furious. “I have a pretty good fucking idea.”

“And I’ve got no clue,” Lucy adds. “Harriett won’t tell me. She’s too mad and she says wants to be wrong.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just find out.” Stacey nods at the garden. “Any idea if we’re supposed to wait outside or go in?”

Her question is answered by a reedy nervous-looking man who appears at the gates. He takes a look at all three of them. “You must be the sisters and friend,” he says. “Please come in. We’re ready for you. Oh, you brought flowers, thank goodness, they forgot about flowers.” He takes the bouquet from Stacey and waves them inside. “My name is Florence, I’ll be the officiant.”

Officiant. Officiant for – oh. Stacey takes in the raised gazebo area with string lights and ivy. An obvious altar. A wedding officiant.

“No,” Lucy whispers to herself. “Oh holy shit. No way.”

Harriett says nothing but is gripping a black-bordered handkerchief hard enough that Stacey can hear her knuckles whine.

“Please sit here,” Florence guides them to three wrought-iron chairs on either side of a stepping-stone aisle. “Usually we have guests stand, but one of the grooms said that this was a bit of a rushed affair and you may be shocked, so sitting down would be preferable.”

Stacey sinks into the chair. Yeah, that was an accurate prediction.

Lucy and Harriett plop into the two chairs on the other side of the aisle. The officiant steps away further down the path out of sight.

“I hate this,” Lucy remarks. “This fucking sucks. But Jacques will quite literally kill us if we do anything to ruin it.”

“Of course.” Stacey turns to them. “I wasn’t going to try to get in the way of this.”

“No, duh, I was saying for Harriett,” Lucy snaps. “Because she looks like she’s going to lose it.” She slaps her fuming sister’s shoulder. “Harriett, I’m serious. If you fuck this up or try to object-”

“I won’t,” she whispers. Even in such a low tone, her voice shakes with rage. “I won’t. I’m not stupid.”

With that wonderful conversation out of the way, the officiant comes back and climbs up onto the gazebo. He says a few words and then welcomes the two grooms up.

Jacques goes first. Somebody found him a suit that somehow fits. It’s baby blue and gray with a white tie. His hair has been groomed into fluffy submission. The bouquet that Stacey got miraculously matches, with accents of dark red and blue and gray ribbon.

He gets to the gazebo and hesitates, looking over his shoulder.

James comes up after him. He looks radiant and happy. He seems more cheerful than Stacey’s seen in weeks. He is dapper as always, his suit bright white with gray pants and a blue vest.

Jacques holds out a hand to help him up the stairs. The two of them stand in front of the officiant and the ceremony starts.

It is blessedly short. The palpable air of adoration radiating from the altar is making Stacey feel a little claustrophobic, and it’s clearly making her demonic companions sick. They quietly exchange vows, repeat some words after the officiant, and exchange rings, though Jacques gets his ring on a chain over his head, then what looks to be a plain ring on his finger. A placeholder, maybe, due to the rushed event.

The only weird part is when they hold each other’s hands and make small cuts into the palms. Then they raise that hand to their face and drink some of the blood. James latches on with practiced ease and Jacques laps at the blood like a kitten.

The officiant looks pale. Stacey’s stomach churns.

“R-Right. Okay. I now pronounce you husband and husband.” The officiant forces a smile. “Mr. and Mr. Revel, you may now kiss.”

Jacques dips James into a deep kiss that lasts a bit too long to be considered appropriate in public.

Stacey coughs and awkwardly looks away. Lucy is quietly gagging and Harriett is shaking more and more by the minute.

Finally the ceremony is over. Stacey stands and goes to greet the newlyweds.

She gasps. Jacques has changed. The whites of his eyes have turned inky black and his teeth are long, sharp. For the first time since she’s met him, he physically looks like a demon.

“C-Congratulations,” she says to James. She reaches out to shake his hand.

“Don’t,” Lucy hisses, grabbing her wrist and snatching her hand back.

“What?” Stacey whispers back, yanking her hand free.

“Just don’t. Don’t touch James for a couple of weeks unless you want to get your hand bitten off.” She nods at Jacques and Stacey hears a low warning growl in his throat, razor teeth bared. “Demons are weird with marriage. It’s an instinctive thing, and it’s fucking stupid. They go berserk and territorial. Possessive, obsessive, and aggressive.”

“Right.” Stacey shakes out her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She pays her respects to the couple and then quickly leaves.

A wedding. Married. James and Jacques, _married_ at last. After what, about a hundred and fifty years together? Finally married. Stacey is surprised but very happy for them.

What a night.

* * *

“Married.” William crosses his arms. “I came to see if the accusation was true.”

Jacques glares defiantly up at him. Eyes dark and teeth long. Arms firm around his lover – no, his _husband’s_ waist, fingers digging into his coat hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. James hides his face in Jacques’ neck. He gets more obviously hostile, baring his teeth and hissing. Unmistakable signs of a honeymoon-phase demon.

“It’s true, then.” William takes a step back and raises his hands to show he means no harm. He’s not about to mess with this. Not now. Not now that he _can’t._ Jacques is a real motherfucker with his timing. “And you didn’t even invite me to the wedding?”

“We eloped,” James admits, raising his head but staying entwined with his protector. He doesn’t look William in the eye. “It was my idea, Sir. We – we sent you a card. You should receive it soon.”

William forces a smile that he knows edges on being too wide. James squeaks and hides his face again. “Congratulations are in order, Mister Revel. And Mister Revel.” He winces and turns away, walking down the frozen street of this shithole city.

Personal attachments aren’t subjective when they’re on paper. When they’re official and when they’re _married._ William can no longer deny Jacques anything he wants when it comes to James. William can do _nothing_ against them.

He can’t deny that they’re cute. It’s adorable to watch Jacques fall over his feet to try to please someone, it’s endearing to watch James squirm and panic at the slightest inconvenience.

Too cute. Jacques is a demon and their Department has _standards._ Sooner or later, this silly fling needed to end. It could have ended naturally or William could have forced the issue. Jacques would have been angry with him, of course, but he would have recovered. Nobody loves someone like that. Not really. Not when you’re a demon.

“Not unless you fucking _marry_ that person,” William mutters to himself. Then he cannot lift a finger against James without serious repercussions. He cannot reprimand Jacques for indulging him, he cannot be cruel and deny him time off for their anniversary or James’ birthday just because he can, just because he knows it upsets Jacques. William has precious few ways to make a punishment matter to Jacques, and he just lost the main one.

He clenches his fists and tries to fight back his rising fury. This marriage was the worst thing to happen to his Department. Jacques will _pay_ for this.

* * *

 _Married!”_ Harriett’s screech makes Lucy’s ears burn.

“Ow!” She complains. “I know, I know, you don’t have to yell at me! It sucks! Stop reminding me of it!”

Her sister paces the room and throws a vase against the wall. Uh-oh, it looks like she’s in a full temper tantrum. A rare mood for her usually restrained partner.

“Don’t throw shit inside the apartment,” Lucy snaps. “Go the fuck outside and get it out of your system. Go find some idiot rich kid to kill.”

“That won’t help!” Harriett screams in fury and throws a water glass. “Nothing will help! He took _our_ last name, Luce!” She reaches for another glass.

Lucy grabs her arms and wrestles her down onto a chair. “Stop it!” She snaps. “You’re hysterical. It’s not the goddamn end of the world-”

“But it might as well be.” Harriett twists out of her grip but stays sitting. Fuming, clenching and unclenching her hands in her mourning attire. Makes sense. Harriett knew from the moment that Jacques called them. Demons always wear black to weddings and for at least a week afterwards. It’s traditional as a sign of grief for the loss of independence of the partners. Lucy had put a black headband on when they had gotten home from the wedding. She’s not grieving as much as she is angry.

And demons are usually angry at weddings. It’s one reason a newlywed demon goes feral: to protect the couple against those who would see their partnership split up. There’s _always_ somebody who hates the couple, who detests the idea of them getting married. Another demonic tradition.

“Married,” Harriett repeats to herself, starting to manically chuckle. “Jacques, _married!_ Jacques, fucking _eloped!”_

“It was all so sudden,” Lucy agrees. “I can’t believe it either.”

Harriett laughs even harder. “It was just a fling, a brush!” She blurts. “Just playing each other’s flute and that’s it! And then now, now he puts a ring on that – that frail blood-whore’s finger!”

 _“Harriett!”_ Lucy gasps at her impudence. _She’s_ supposed to be the bad one. “Don’t talk like that!”

“I’ll talk however I damn well please!”

“Well don’t talk like that in front of them, then! Our brother would kill you for such an insult!”

Harriett stands and shakes off Lucy’s attempted grip. “I don’t _have_ a brother.”

She jams her hat and veil on her head. “I’m going out.”

The door slams behind her. Lucy sighs. Jacques, married. What are they to do now?


	2. Chapter 2 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Oral sex, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Explicit Consent, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Light Dom/Sub

Marriage is a high and Jacques never wants to come down.

“I’m home!” James calls out. He’d gone to the store, Jacques thinks. He can’t remember. All that matters is that his husband was _gone_ and now he’s back. He grins and goes to meet him at the door, then freezes, nose twitching.

Another man touched his husband.

“Dear, mmph-” James receives him in his arms, dumping grocery bags on the ground. He melts into Jacques’ arms and lets himself be pulled into the living room and pushed down onto the couch.

Noises, noises – his love makes the most wonderful noises when Jacques grinds against him and bites down on his lip. He pulls James’ hands above his head and squeezes his wrists. An order to keep them there, or else.

Or else. James is disobedient today, moving to put his hands in Jacques’ hair instead. Jacques’ fingers busily work at James’ clothing, yanking his trousers down to his knees and following suit with his undergarments. Takes a moment to remove James’ hands and put them above his head again with the order in his eyes to _keep them there._ His darling complains and puts one arm around Jacques’ waist, the other on the back of his neck.

He growls and allows the rebellion. Desire to make his lover obey wars with the instinct to let him do whatever he wants. He retaliates by sucking James off while his husband groans his name.

The taste of him is sweet and full in Jacques’ mouth and it’s not enough, it’s never enough. Jacques seeks out the spot that someone dared touch what is _his._ James’ right hand, the heel of his soft hand, has been desecrated by an unknown scent. Jacques bites down hard on that spot and draws blood, syrupy tastes mixing on his tongue.

“Jacques, Jacques-” James is calling for him and Jacques must listen. He raises his head and wipes the corner of his mouth. “J-Jacques, it’s okay, the cashier just brushed my h-hand when he gave me my receipt, it’s nothing – nothing to worry about-”

Jacques silences him with a kiss. _“Nothing?”_ He snarls. James whimpers at the intensity. “I am yours, _only,_ and you are mine, _only._ Nobody else, _nobody.”_

“N-Nobody,” James readily agrees.

Not enough, never enough. Jacques needs him to feel it, he needs him to know it, to understand how crazy he’s driving Jacques when he so much as looks at someone else. If he was in a clearer state of mind, he’d be appalled by how much jealousy was coursing through his system, how much possessiveness took ahold of his hands.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he rumbles. He needs his husband to _scream_ for him.

“Of course, of course.” James whines and digs his fingers into the couch cushions when Jacques starts eating him out, fucking him raw with his tongue, supernaturally sharp nails dragging down his feather-soft thighs. Too much too soon, still too sensitive from the first round.

Honeymooning demons don’t have a refractory period. In his haze of lust, Jacques doesn’t even remember that such a thing exists. He just knows that his lover gasps Jacques’ name when he starts stroking him, rough and fast. And he knows he wants to hear that more, louder, he needs James to beg him and he doesn’t even know why, he just _needs_ it.

“Jacques, pl-please, please, it hurts-” James whimpers and throws his head back, panting. His hand blindly reaches down and Jacques takes it with his free hand, interlacing fingers. James’ ring glittering in the light from the bay windows.

“Stop?” Jacques checks. “Too much?”

“No, no, don’t stop, I – I just – I’m-”

James’ wail of pleasure rings in Jacques’ appeased ears as he orgasms again, dry (too much too soon). Spasming, eyes wide and dazed and breath stuttering.

He lets his husband breathe. Jacques is not satisfied, he is never satisfied now, but he knows James’ limits. Jacques curls up on top of him and kisses him like he wants to eat up those small noises of pleasurable pain forever, tracing the skin under James’ ear in temporary but oh-so-permanent letters: _mine, mine-_

“Dear, we should get up,” James finally says. Voice still hoarse and addled. He yawns and Jacques’ chest lights up with pride. _He_ did this. Getting a vampire tired is _his_ work.

Jacques doesn’t want to get up. But a suggestion from his husband is as good as a command, so he stands and helps James up, nuzzling into his neck and tracing those same words on his bare hip:

_Mine, mine, mine._


End file.
